


You thought that was a Hangover?

by AlexandeNight



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin thinks he's got a hangover, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, and it really isn't one, ever think that Tim and Sasha try to lift Martin's spirits while he's trapped int he archives?, h/c, season 1 crew - Freeform, these guys crack me up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27813226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandeNight/pseuds/AlexandeNight
Summary: from a Tumblr Prompt:Martin had been having a tough time being cooped up in the archives.  Tim and Sasha tried cheering him up a bit and went a bit overboard.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	You thought that was a Hangover?

**Author's Note:**

> My dear friend Deavaric (tumblr) prompted "You thought this was a Hangover" and I got a bit carried away XD

Against his better judgement, Martin had spent the previous night having a few drinks with Tim and Sasha. 

Sleeping in the Archives had been about as much fun as it sounded… and it was getting to Martin. Nights were the most fretful; he kept waking to the sensations of things  _ crawling  _ over his skin. By the time he checked over Document Storage and showered (again), he’d lose another hour of sleep. Other times he’d feel a  _ presence _ watching him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t completely alone in the archives and it was...well... _ spooky _ . 

Tim and Sasha chalked it up to poor sleeping conditions and no company. 

This week had felt particularly long. Between the follow-ups, the frustration of being unable to do field work and the way the cold air of the place rubbed his throat raw, the stress was starting to show. 

“You alright there Martin?” Sasha asked. 

“What? Oh yes! Why wouldn’t I be?” he gave a small smile as Sasha’s sharp eyes bored into his own.

“It’s just that, these days it looks like you’re borrowing Jon’s makeup palette.” She swiped under her eyes for effect.

“She’s right Marto; take after the boss man anymore and the next thing you know you’ll start ordering us around, demanding to know where our follow up is.”

Martin huffed out a laugh “Hardly.”

“Come one, you can tell us what’s going on.” 

Seeing that they weren’t going to let him off the hook easily, Martin admitted that the cabin fever was starting to get to him. “To be clear-” Martin added hastily “I’m not complaining mind you, I am grateful for being able to stay here.” he clarified, knowing full well that Jon had stuck his neck out for him. “Just, I miss the sunlight on the morning commute.” 

He hadn’t been able to get so much as a toe outside the place since Prentiss. The worms would gather in hoards wherever he tried to exit. 

Tim’s eyebrows shot straight up. “ _ Sun _ ? In  _ London _ ? Sasha, call 999, this man is not well!”

“You  _ know  _ what I  _ mean  _ Tim!”

“Just saying, you had me worried for a minute. London conjures images of fog and smog, not a place for sun.”

“Oh  _ god _ , I’d kill for a bit of fog!” Martin groaned. 

Tim laughed and squeezed his shoulders. “Bit of the subterranean blues eay?” 

It was late Wednesday when Tim dropped off a paper bag on Martin’s desk with a “Since you can’t come out for drinks with us Marto, we thought we should bring the drinks to you.” 

“And don’t worry,” Sasha added, “I talked him out of buying the tequila with the worm in it.” 

“That’s how you know it’s the good stuff!” Tim shot back “Doubt Prentiss could stomach the stuff. We could invite her for drinks and bamb! Done! Just like that.” 

Jon had even decided to leave early for once. Depositing a small bag of snacks, stiffly refusing their invitations and warned them not to overdo it “It’s a weeknight afterall.”

Turned out that Tim and Sasha were bad influences, ending up getting Martin to drink more than his usual limit. Sasha told stories of the grey lady that haunted her dorm first year of college, Tim embellished stories of kayaking trips and Martin soaked it all in, enjoying the company. 

The pair practically interrogated Sasha about how she could be so calm about the Michael encounter. She brushed them off, saying that it was pretty tame compared to Artifact Storage; then refused to say more. They tried to get more information, they really did; until she started stabbing them with her fingernails “I’m imitating Michael” she told them, with a far too serious expression on her face. 

“Jesus Sash, that un’ hurt!” Tim slurred.

“Call me Slash! Of the stabby fingers-” she grinded, flexing her hands like a cat. 

It almost made him forget about the worms and about the watched feeling. 

Almost.

They’d stayed hours later than they had ment and left armed with a CO2 extinguisher. Sasha sent a text when they reached her flat, a picture of the pair and their fire extinguishers (now named Jon and Martin, with crudely drawn faces). Apparently, crashing together at Sasha’s. 

He was glad for their safety, a little more than envious of their company. They had a history, their patterns that were known by another person. It had to be nice. 

By the time Martin hit his cot, he was well and truly out of it, a dull throbbing had taken up behind his eyes that water wouldn’t chase away and his joints were stiff. But for the first time since he came to the institute, he didn’t feel the need to check for worms. 

Sasha and Tim came in together, shaking off the cold. Though their expressions were foggy, they seemed in good spirits, giving eachother gentil shoves as they competed for the first right of passage through the doors. Making Rosie shake her head fondly. 

“Oh god! Tim!” Sasha laughed, pushing the man away with a laugh, wiping her scarf at his retreating back before looking round. “Where’s Martin?” 

Tim glanced over, noticeably void of their resident ginger and frowned “Probably getting some tea.” 

Sasha hummed, taking her seat. Just then Martin came shuffling in, with a cup of tea, Tim wiggled his eyebrows victoriously.

“There he is! The man of the hour and  _ christ-  _ you alright?” Martin had winced when Tim spoke as if pained. 

“Wha? Oh, yeah. Jus’ bit of a headache.” he didn’t want to say hangover. It seemed way to unprofessional to be at work with a hangover. Still couldn’t believe they’d been drinking in the bullpen the night before. He swallowed against the soreness in his throat, wishing that it would stop hurting for a bit.

“Martin, you’ve been out with us before and never had this problem.”

Martin shrugged. “Out of practice?” he said apologetically, “anyways, nothing a bit of tea won’t cure.” 

“Or a bit of work, I dare say.” Jon said, stolling out of his office, wearing an almost comically stern expression. Tim liked to call it his ‘little Elias’ look. Swearing to anyone who’d listen that he’d never done that in research. 

“Boss!” came Tim’s over cheary voice as the group exchanged greetings. Jon took a moment to touch base on assignments. 

Martin’s mind slipped away from the conversation as he stared at Jon. He actually looked rather...nice today. Hair pulled back, sharp features thrown into relief and the circles under those rich brown eyes seemed softer like he actually got some sleep. It would have been so nice to have slept in and nurse his aching body. Maybe even give his mum’s hangover recipe a shot- with a guilty twist in his stomach, he realized it had been far too long since he last touched base with his mother. He really ought to write a letter- or just-

“artin? Martin?” the man jumped, sending his head aching again.

“Wha? O-oh, sorry.” color flooded his face.

“Right, well, if you’re quite done, I’d like to hear your progress report.”

Martin stammered through the update as best he could. When they were dismissed, he gave a grimace of a smile and slumped into his seat. The others gave sympathetic looks and pulled their work to them. 

In truth, being unable to do his own fieldwork had hindered what he was capable of. Sasha had been coaching him research, he’d improved greatly under her guidance. However, there was a  _ nack  _ to supernatural follow up he had yet to master. Not for lack of trying. There were days where he’d put in twice the work of either of his coworkers and  _ still _ feel behind. Sometimes Tim or Sasha would come by and point out how he could make his life easier by doing this or that, and the suggestions genuinely helped. Though he was constantly afraid of being found out for lying on his CV. He’d thrown himself into being useful. 

There was still a lot to learn about follow-up, but he knew how to make people comfortable at least. Making them tea, keeping track of everyone’s birthday in a calendar, learning the little personal things he could ask after, like Rosie’s children or Kevin’s wife. He’d always been able to make the little connections. 

Perhaps that could help hide how lost he was.

No matter what Martin did, he couldn’t dislodge the pounding in his head or the ach in his limbs. The hangover was really starting to get to him. What was worse, it was affecting his work! Hours oozed by as Martin struggled over swirling words and plucked out a few disorientated sentences. He skipped lunch, in favor of more tea. The mere thought of food made him queasy. By the time Tim and Sasha packed up, he was still laboring over his tasks. Willing himself to finish so that the work wouldn’t pile up, so that he could prove to Jon that he could actually do this work-

The night after he dumped the bag of worms on Jon’s desk, he overheard the conversation with Elias. Jon had really stood up for him. Didn’t waver when Elias scoffed at his concerns and tried to make Jon “see reason.” Jon had told Elias, in no uncertain terms, that he believed Martin to be in danger, and wanted to ensure he was safe while the issue was resolved. 

All this from a man that Martin had been sure hated him. Turned out, he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Against his better judgement, Martin was actually starting to  _ like _ Jon. 

The pounding in his head was pulling him down, he stifled a cough into a tissue. A quick rest surely wouldn’t hurt? After All, not like he needed to be anywhere. 

Jon glanced up at the clock, half past nine. With a jolt he realized it was late,  _ really  _ late.  _ Damn _ . He’d been so careful about leaving during daylight hours, but it hardly mattered now.

Sighing, Jon sat back in his desk, glancing over at the package, deciding to leave it where Martin would find it. He tucked the package under his arm, with a little post-it note that read:

Archival Anti-Subterranean Equipment, 

For your immediate consideration

Jon Sims

Meaning to leave it on Martin’s desk, Jon was surprised to find the space still occupied. 

“Martin? What on earth are you doing?” 

He didn’t stir, odd, Martin was such a jumpy thing. Jon laid the package next to him, noting the peculiar way he held himself, as if pained? Then there was the fitful sleep. For a horrible second, Jon thought of Timothy Hodge’s statement, and the way the woman, Harriet Lee, had  _ squirmed  _ just before- It was too soon to jump to conclusions. The worms- they hadn’t gotten Martin, had they? They’d been so careful, so deliberate about killing them whenever spotted. Even doing periodic searches-

Jon had to check, had to be certain.

“Martin” he shook the man’s shoulder, gentilly, but with an urgency he wasn’t accustomed to. “Martin, wake up!”

His eyes flew open, it was all Jon could do to keep Martin in his chair. The skin beneath his fingers was feverish to the touch, which did nothing to ease Jon’s concern. 

“Oh-Oh  _ god _ ” Martin looked mortified “I-I completely passed out! Jon I- I didn’t mean-”

Jon held up a hand trying to head the man off “Martin, please, it’s quite alright- the workday is long over, you’re entitled to rest.”

Martin blanched, looking up at the clock face “Nine!” before clapping a hand to his head as though it pained him. 

“Are you-er… okay?” Jon asked “You seem to be…. struggling. More than  _ usual  _ and-” he sighed, gathering himself. This was  _ not _ his forte “Are you okay?” 

“I-I’m fine.” he was visibly panicking and Jon was feeling more worried by the minute.

“Martin.” His tone was sharper than he meant it to be, and rather than calm the man down, it made things worse. 

“I-i-it’s not very professional, falling asleep in the bullpen,  _ christ _ !” he was growing reder by the minute, and seemed to be working towards hyperventilating. Out of all the things that Jon would critique Martin on, sleeping at his desk wasn’t one of them. Jon often made use of power naps to reset for the next bout of statements. 

Before Jon could stop him, Martin stood, color fleeing his face. That was all the warning Jon got before he folded. 

There it was again, that  _ feeling _ , that feeling that he was being watched. Martin groaned, coming back to himself. He  _ hurt _ , everything from the tips of his hair to the nail beds of his toes ached. 

“You awake then?” said a chillingly familiar voice.  _ Jon? _

The world was fuzzy and dimly lit, he couldn’t recognize his surroundings. There was a bleary figure propped up against a wall, face illuminated in the harsh glow of a laptop. 

“Or is that just another false alarm- Christ, I’m bad at this.” There was no doubt about it, it was Jon and he was…. talking to himself? 

“J-Jon?” his voice strangled, barely there. The blurry figure jumped, setting aside his laptop to draw closer. 

“Martin! Y-you went down and I couldn’t move you and” he sighed “...right.” there was a puff of air and he tried again “How are you feeling?

“Like I’ve gotten hit by a truck-” he shifted, realizing he was under a lot of covers and that his head was pillowed on something. Jon had done that? His memory was so... fuzzy. 

“I know you live at the archives, but that doesn’t mean you have to work when you’re sick.” he said, “A fever of 38 is nothing to joke about. And here.” Jon pressed glasses into his hands. Things came into focus. 

“I know that.” Martin said, propping himself up on elbows “Jus’ didn’t think I was sick.” 

“You passed out Martin,  _ Christ _ I thought the worms had- I hope you take better care in the future.” 

“No worms. Pretty sure no worms.” He coughed into an elbow “Just- Just thought it was a hangover?”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up “You thought  _ this  _ was a hangover?” 

“Yeah.” Martin felt a blush rise to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fever “Yeah, I did.” I all sounded silly now, a wave of dizziness prompted him to lay back down again. Martin was a bit taken aback, to be honest. If he didn’t know better he’d say Jon was concerned. Looking around he saw a flannel and a bowl of water. Jon had been taking care of him? 

Jon laughed, a small exhausted thing “Do you think you can make it to Document Storage? The floor is hardly a great place to recover.”

“Y-yeah. I think so.” 

The pair shuffled their way down the hall, Martin leaning heavily on Jon. Martin nearly went down again, Jon diving to keep him up. He was given some privacy to change, Martin could do that much even though the cloth felt terribly abrasive against his skin. Then Jon was back, bringing him some water and medicine. 

Martin was awake enough to feel guilty. It was already 1 a.m. and Jon showed no signs of leaving. Instead he pulled out a roll and made himself more comfortable on the floor. Saying he’d feel better knowing someone was keeping an eye out for him. 

Predictably, when Martin woke the next day, Jon was nowhere to be seen. He wondered if the previous night's events even had been real, or if it was just-wishful thinking. He wondered that until he found a package on top of the statement boxes he used as a night stand. The post-it note bore Jon’s handwriting. Puzzled, he unwrapped the package and pulled out a SAD light. Martin chuckled against the soreness in his throat; chase away the subterranean blues with a SAD light. It was oddly….touching. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, questions or constructive critiques are greatly appreciated ^^  
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
